


Veritas

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-07-31
Updated: 1998-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 06:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11330265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: A story featuring Mulder and Krycek as partners.





	Veritas

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Veritas by Jan

Veritas M/K, NC-17  
by Jan <>  
Archive: MKRA okay  
Disclaimer: Characters belong to CC; action belongs to me.  
A story featuring Mulder and Krycek as partners. Very slight spoilers for Sleepless.  
I owe a lot to my readers and editors. Big thanks go to Maria, Liza, and Celeste for the inspiration and encouragement. Without the three of you, this story wouldn't exist. And thank you, Shoshanna and torch, for the excellent advice and patient editing. You both helped me make it better.  
This one's for Maria, and I hope she knows why.  
Comments are warmly welcome at <>.

* * *

Veritas

Mulder cut through the water, sleek as a dolphin, ignoring the few other swimmers catching late-night laps in the agency pool. Deep within the Hoover building he could lose himself in the cool water, forget the heat and frustration of the July day and just let his brain drift and his body take over. The swimming relaxed him, recalling a faint muscle memory, a sense of well-being left over from a faraway summer when he swam in the ocean and his life was uncomplicated and clean. The bullshit case that had been monopolizing his mind all day receded as he stroked through the water, stretching the muscles of his arms and legs as if swimming for shore.

Finally, pulling himself wearily out of the pool, he squinted up at the broad white clock on the wall. After 11 PM. Maybe he could get home without his brain kicking back into high gear, finally get some sleep. Since the X-Files had been shut down his sleep schedule had become even more erratic. The summer heat didn't help much, and neither did working with a new partner. The lack of rest was beginning to wear him down.

As he loped slowly into the locker room, the echoing voices of the other swimmers sounded distant and muted, as if he were still underwater. In front of his locker, he peeled himself free of his slick red trunks, then stepped into the shower, hissing as the hot water hit his scalp and shoulders. Leaning forward slightly to rest his hands against the cool tile, he let the water stream over his face and body, the heat seeping into his tired muscles.

Turning under the spray, he ran his hands over his face to clear his eyes. Then, as he glanced absently out into the locker room, Mulder tensed in the thud of a heartbeat. Just across from the entrance to the shower, a man was seated on a bench in front of an open locker, toweling his hair with rapid strokes. Mulder couldn't see the face, but his mouth went dry as he noticed muscles moving lightly under the skin of strong shoulders and a smooth back. As his eyes scanned down the lean body, Mulder drew a sharp breath at the blond hairs dusting the curve of the man's lower back, just above the waistband of his snug white briefs. Mulder was certain he would have noticed if he'd seen the man here before.

Not that he made a habit of cruising his coworkers. 

He closed his eyes and let the water sluice over him, trying to wash the image out of his mind. He hadn't responded so readily to a man in years. And he hadn't even seen the guy's face. Mulder focused on the sound and feeling of the water pouring over him, doing his best to relax again. With his eyes closed, he found his mind drifting back to the thought of his body bent over a strong, lean back, his hands running over the lush swell of hips . . . 

Blinking his eyes open, he turned off the water. There was just no way in hell he was going to stand in the locker room shower with his cock turning into a divining rod. It was a bad joke waiting to happen. He reached for a towel and wrapped it around his waist. 

As he left the shower, his eyes were drawn back to the man on the bench. There was something familiar about his movements--the way his hands went to brush damp hair from his eyes, the brisk efficiency as he rubbed lotion into his skin. 

Oh, no. This he did not need.

Mulder walked as unobtrusively as possible over to his locker and pulled his clothes out onto the bench. He was leaning down, toweling his legs dry, when he heard the other man clear his throat. The small sound was quiet enough that he could pretend not to hear it. If he hadn't been listening he probably *wouldn't* have heard it, mixed in as it was with the blend of late-night locker room sounds. With luck, Krycek would take a hint. He just wanted to grab a beer, maybe a few beers, then go home and flop down and jack off and *sleep*, he didn't have the energy for Krycek's hero-worship tonight. 

"Didn't know you were a swimmer, Mulder. You always come down here this late?"

Fuck. He sat down on the bench and dug his underwear out of the pile. 

"I like it too, when the pool's almost empty. Back at Quantico, I used to--"

"Look, Krycek. Not tonight. I just want to . . ." What? When he closed his eyes, he saw . . . "I'll talk to you in the morning, okay? I'm tired." His words cut into the steamy air of the locker room, hanging there between them for a moment. Mulder pulled on his shorts, willing himself not to look at Krycek.

The sound of Krycek's locker door slamming shut startled him. Mulder looked over before he could stop himself. Krycek had put on his pants and was holding his shoes in his hand, his shirt hanging open over his chest. The white cotton clung to him where his skin was still damp.

"You know what, Mulder? Fuck it." Alex shoved his feet into his shoes. "I didn't ask to be your partner. I'm just as miserable as you are." Long fingers worked angrily at the buttons on his shirt. "So why don't we just cut the bullshit. Soon as we clear this case, you can ask to be reassigned. Just don't fuck me over when you do." 

He watched as Krycek closed the distance between them. Mulder knew he was acting like a bastard. Sometimes it was like watching himself from deeper within himself. He should mumble out some trite apology, blame his mood on the late hour, or the case, or lack of sleep--which was part of the truth. But something held him back. Alex's anger surprised him. So did his own desire to push it even farther. 

He stood up and pulled on his pants, then took a step forward to meet Krycek without regard for his own half-dressed state. Krycek's eyes narrowed, focusing on him with dark anger. 

"Sorry I hurt your feelings." Mulder smiled as coldly as possible. "Alex." 

Blood rushed to Krycek's cheeks. His nostrils flared slightly as he stared into Mulder's face. Mulder had never seen him this way, dangerous, like a rat backed into a corner. Mulder had to lean forward a little more to hear his words, hissed low and husky below the sounds of the showers. "You really are an asshole, Mulder. Or should I call you *Fox*, after hours?" Mulder stiffened. "Fuck this. I may have to take your shit at work, but I don't have to lie down and roll over for you in my free time. See you tomorrow."

Retreating to his locker, Krycek thrust his arms into his jacket, grabbed his briefcase and gym bag, and left the locker room without looking back. Mulder stood beside the bench and watched, amazed, as Krycek punched his way out the swinging door. How had that happened? How had a thirty-second conversation escalated into a bitch-fight?

Tossing his gear into his bag, Mulder stalked out into the muggy night. The tarmac reflected heat up at him, still blazing three hours after the sun had gone down. Making his way to his car in the dark parking lot, he felt the tension settling back into his body. //Thanks a lot, Krycek.//

* * *

Three hours later he was still wide awake, a combination of heat and frustration leaving him too wired to sleep. The air in his apartment was muggy and thick, but mostly he was angry at his own response to Krycek. How had Krycek gotten under his skin so effectively in so short a time? At first Mulder focused on his own indignation, but as the night grew longer he recalled what he'd imagined in the shower, the way the man's skin would feel beneath his hands, the way he'd smell and taste . . . Shit, he had to be losing it. Once he remembered those images, and how they'd seemed so real to him even before he realized that the man on the bench was his new partner, his overactive sense of self-blame had kicked in and he'd found it difficult to be angry at Krycek. Even if he didn't know whether he could trust the guy or not, it was pretty low to jerk off to the memory of his body when he wouldn't even talk to him outside the office. He knew he was being a prick to Krycek. It had started on the day they met. 

Tossing on his couch at 3 AM, he thought about the weeks that had passed since then. From the start, he'd figured that Krycek had been sent to keep an eye on him--like Scully--so he wasn't about to trust him. Scully had never been able to hide the fact that she was sent to watch him, and there was something comforting about that. The fact that Krycek *could* hide his purpose made Mulder even more nervous. *Nobody* could really be that green. Yet during the Augustus Cole case, Krycek had seemed sincerely interested, even motivated to find an answer. When that file had gone missing, though, Mulder's first thought was that Krycek had taken it. Then again, Krycek had shot Cole when he'd thought Mulder was in danger, and he'd certainly responded to that like any other new agent would. Of course, maybe he just deserved an Oscar.

Cole's death was really the beginning of the current tension between them. Mulder had been so sure by then that Krycek was playing him that he'd handled the aftermath of that case badly. He'd *told* Krycek not to shoot, that Cole didn't have a gun, but he couldn't blame the guy for trusting his own eyes. Still, though, he hadn't reached out to Krycek the way he would have if circumstances had been different, because at the time he hadn't really believed Krycek was as shaken as he seemed. Mulder was pretty sure by then that Krycek was working for the Smoker--which could mean he was a professional assassin, for all Mulder knew--and it was hard to play the part of the sympathetic partner when he couldn't trust the guy. 

It wasn't until he caught Krycek vomiting in the men's room three days after the shooting that he realized how upset his partner really was. Mulder tried then to put him at ease, but Krycek just shook him off and left, embarrassed and angry. Since then, it seemed like each of them had slipped even more deeply into stereotyped roles--the anxious plebe who needed to prove himself at all costs, the spooky paranoiac who trusted no one. It was impossible to build a partnership that way. Now it seemed that whenever either of them reached out, the other was unwilling or unable to meet him halfway. It was a tiring way to work.

After what had happened in the locker room, though, Mulder had to wonder if some of his treatment of Krycek hadn't been caused by his own subconscious attraction to the man. He'd have to make things right tomorrow. He groaned as he looked at the clock. //Not tomorrow, today.// 4 AM, and sleep was nowhere in sight. 

* * *

"Come on, Krycek. I've had enough. Get in the car." Mulder slid into the hot car, the vinyl seat burning his back and legs through his sweaty shirt and pants. 

He'd started the day with the best of intentions, but somehow it seemed like the fates were punishing him, or at least playing some kind of cruel joke. First thing in the morning, Skinner had sent them out here--rural northwestern Virginia--to gather evidence for the white-collar crime case they were working on. "Follow the money," he'd said, despite the fact that no self-respecting white-collar criminal would be caught dead in Manchester, Virginia. Then, thirty minutes outside DC, the air conditioner on the bureau car had blown out and wouldn't come back on. It was already 85 degrees at 9 AM, but Mulder had refused to turn back. The worst thing was, he'd signed the car out himself, so he couldn't even blame Krycek. When they'd finally reached Manchester, the local sheriff had practically pulled a gun on them before they got their badges out--apparently the natives didn't take too kindly to strangers around these parts. They'd spent the day sweating their way from door to door, asking uncooperative locals about a crime that had never even taken place, judging by the amount of information they were able to gather. The humidity and heat of the afternoon only burned Mulder's fuse shorter, and by 4 PM he was ready to give up and go home.

"You coming or not?" He cranked the car and waited for his partner to join him.

Krycek hesitated at the passenger side, then leaned down to the open window to talk across the front seat. "Mulder, you know we have two more people to see. We can't go back until we're finished here." He looked so earnest and green standing there, the sweat beaded on his upper lip, his shirt buttoned to the top, his tie still tightly knotted despite the long day of sweltering work. It was amazing--nobody could look as buttoned up in a suit as Krycek could.

"Krycek, do you really think they give a shit about this case back at the Bureau?" His voice sounded bitter and harsh, he knew, but he'd had more than he could take. "They're just trying to get me out of DC, and it was your bad luck to get dragged along. Or else you were sent along to spy on me. Either way, we're not getting anything out of these people, and I don't much like the thought of spending another hour on this bullshit. If you're coming, come on." Mulder put the car into drive and disengaged the emergency brake.

Krycek yanked open the door and got into the car, tossing his briefcase into the back seat. Brooding, he fastened his seat belt and settled in for the ride.

The afternoon was heavy with humidity, the feeling of damp anticipation hanging in the air like a stifling velvet curtain. Mulder squinted to see the road ahead, the heat making slick mirages appear on the pavement in the distance. Although Krycek made no attempt at conversation, Mulder could feel him there just the same, his silence even more disapproving than if he'd spoken aloud.

The hot wind whipped through the open windows as Mulder barreled down the country highway. He needed to get back to DC as quickly as possible, just get out of the man's presence, escape his heavy gaze. At least there was no way they could talk with the windows down and the pedal to the floor. They'd have to shout to be heard.

After the wind yanked the tail of his tie out the window for the fourth time, Krycek removed the tie with an angry jerk. Shoving the length of silk into his pocket, he leaned toward Mulder and yelled, "You don't have to go so fast, you know."

Mulder answered grimly, without glancing sideways, "I'm trying to beat the rain."

He could smell the rain in the air, could feel that slight increase in the humidity that foretold a summer afternoon downpour. He knew from the fresh scent of the afternoon and the charged air that a storm was near, even before the thunder began. And he knew that the last thing he wanted at this moment was for this trip to take any longer than it had to.

As the first fat raindrops hit the windshield, Mulder flipped on the lights and the windshield wipers. Could this day get any worse? In seconds, the rain was drumming angrily on the roof of the car, splattering in the open windows, making Krycek scramble for the crank. He closed the passenger side windows, front and back, then turned to Mulder with a glare, bristling like a wet cat. "What's wrong with you? Aren't you going to roll up the windows?"

Reluctantly, Mulder slowed the car slightly and cranked the glass shut, then reached awkwardly behind his seat to close the rear window as well. The pressure in the car became unbearable almost immediately--the damp, tepid air blowing ineffectively through the vents was almost worse than nothing at all. Mulder felt the weight of the angry presence beside him and pressed his foot to the gas once again, leaning forward in his seat as if it would help him see the road ahead.

"Shit! Are you trying to get us killed?" Alex grabbed for the jesus bar over the passenger door as the speedometer crept back up over 65. "You can't even see the road!"

It was true. The rain beat down on the windshield faster than the wipers could sweep it away, and the gray light hid everything but the few feet of the pavement that were illuminated by the car's high beams. 

Suddenly the road vanished from view in the scant glow of the headlights. Mulder cut the wheel to clear the sharp curve but before he knew it the car was sliding off the road, fishtailing on a thick sheet of water. Hitting the brakes as they skidded, Mulder wrestled to keep three thousand pounds of stubborn steel on a six-foot shoulder of gravel and grass. The car finally bounced to a rough stop, aided by the heavy rhododendrons growing wild beside the road.

Mulder gripped the wheel and leaned forward, resting his forehead against his hands. Uninjured but shaken, he forced himself to take deep, even breaths.

Krycek was less calm. Gasping aloud, he turned to shout at Mulder. "What are you trying to do? If you want to commit suicide, be my guest, but don't take me with you!" His voice broke.

Mulder clenched his jaw. Straightening in his seat he took his bearings, peering out of the windshield into the sheets of water that were still hammering the car. He simply could not stay here, locked in this closed space with Krycek in an angry panic. Looking into the rear view mirror, he shifted the car into reverse. Better to get back on the road, no matter what the weather, than be stuck here.

As he began to back out, Krycek surprised him by reaching across the seat. "You can't drive in this rain! Are you insane?" His hand closed on Mulder's elbow.

Mulder snarled and tried to shake Krycek's hand off, not meeting his eyes. He reached for the steering wheel again.

"No!" Krycek's voice was angry now, not frightened. He lunged across the seat--when had he unbuckled his seat belt?--and knocked the car into park, then grabbed both Mulder's arms and pulled him away from the wheel.

They struggled for a moment, Krycek's strong hands tight around Mulder's wrists, his breath hot in Mulder's face. Their sweaty bodies slipped against each other on the vinyl seat, heating the damp air even more. Finally, Mulder braced himself against the wheel and shoved Krycek back against the passenger side door.

"Leave me alone," Mulder whispered, desperate, holding Krycek's shoulders back against the window, where rain still pounded against the glass.

Krycek grabbed Mulder's wrists and pulled his hands away, his eyes snapping green fire. "What is this, Mulder, some kind of death wish? Is your life really so bad that you have to take it out on yourself, and take me with you?" His voice was a feral growl in the dank air of the car. He held tight to Mulder's wrists, pulling him half across the seat, forcing Mulder to meet his gaze. Mulder couldn't seem to pull back, his hands trapped by Krycek's, his eyes drawn to Krycek's open lips, his angry green eyes. Suddenly he remembered the surge of adrenaline he'd felt the night before in the locker room--no, more than *remembered* it, he felt it again. Even stronger than before, with the sound of thunder ringing in his ears, the rain beating down on the roof of the car over his head, and their sweaty bodies so close that the windows of the car were steaming up.

For a moment it felt like being outside the world. And Mulder felt himself falling in, or falling out, falling out of time, out of space, out of reality. Caught like a rabbit in Krycek's deep green gaze, he was conscious of the danger but unable to escape. Krycek's eyes were sad and wild, gleaming bright in the darkness of the storm.

Finally Krycek spoke, his voice still so low that Mulder had to lean even closer to catch the words. "I know I'm not the partner you asked for, Mulder, and not the one you want. I can try to give you what you need, though."

Mulder wasn't sure what he meant. "What I need . . . ?" he asked. Then, slowly, deliberately, Krycek ran his thumb over the inside of Mulder's wrist, stroking gently against the pulse point with a delicate pressure. And then Mulder knew what it was that he wanted and couldn't ask for, what Krycek was offering him now. He shivered, closed his eyes, and fell for good.

Jerking himself back to his own side of the car, Mulder yanked off his seat belt and turned off the car's engine. The only sounds now were the rain and the two men's breathing, heavy, as if they would drown in the heat of the afternoon. Then Mulder was moving across the seat, closer to the sweet heat of the man beside him. The last place he wanted to be, the only place he needed to be. And now it didn't matter whether he trusted him or even liked him, the only thing that mattered was getting closer.

Mulder was already mostly hard when he shifted and turned in the seat, straddling Krycek's hips, his knees digging into the crease of the seat back. Hunched over to keep his head from bumping against the roof of the car, he buried his face against Krycek's sweaty neck, inhaling the fresh smell of arousal. With a groan, Krycek reached to the side and reclined the seat as far back as it would go, shifting his body under Mulder's weight.

Mulder could barely hear the voice in his head that was screaming, "What are you *doing*?" (and why did the voice of his conscience sound like Scully, anyway?)--that voice was drowned by the pounding of his own heart, the pounding of Krycek's heart beneath him, and the pounding of the rain over his head. He buried his hands in the damp fabric of Krycek's shirt and pulled it free of his belt, then ran his hands under the cotton to feel the sweat-slick skin. Oh, god. So smooth. Hands inside the shirt, he pulled him close, his face still pressed against Krycek's neck.

Now Krycek moaned, urging him on with a slight lift and twist of his hips. When Mulder felt the hard length of him down there, seeking him out, he moaned and started to rock against Krycek's body.

Without unfastening their clothes Mulder rubbed himself against Krycek, slowly at first, soon building to a heated pace. Grunting as he rutted against the layers of fabric that separated their two straining cocks, he felt Krycek's hands sliding under his shirt, pulling him down harder.

oh, god, ohgod  
heat   
and wet   
and heavy air  
rain bouncing off glass and steel  
the drumming of my heart  
steam in the windows  
the haze over my eyes  
it's been too long  
oh, oh god . . .

Now Mulder thrust with abandon, the hot barrel of his sex grinding against Krycek's. Beside his ear he heard gasps and moans, and suddenly realized that he wanted to see what the man looked like when he made those sounds. Bracing his elbows against the seat back and lifting his head, Mulder looked into Krycek's face.

He lay with his head thrown back against the head rest. His eyes were closed, lashes lying against his sweaty cheeks in tiny points. His mouth was open, his lips wet, lush, sinful. As Mulder bore down hard, pressing their cocks together between their sweaty bodies, Krycek let out a cry that sounded like both pain and ecstasy. He rolled his head slowly against the seat and licked his lips with a dart of his pink tongue. 

Groaning, Mulder gave one last stab forward with his hips, then held himself rigid against Krycek's groin as he started to come. The sticky heat jerked itself out of his body and into his pants, saturating the hot fabric of his shorts. As Mulder's orgasm passed, Krycek began to shudder and spasm beneath him, holding onto Mulder's back with fists twisted in his shirt, pressing his hard sex up against the heat of Mulder's sticky, spent cock. Fascinated, Mulder watched his face as he came, the way his lips stretched into an open grimace as the flames shot through him, the way his lashes flicked open to reveal unseeing eyes, then fluttered closed again. The sound he made was a keening wail, a wordless cry that sounded as if it were pulled forcibly from his heart and out into being. 

The rain had stopped.

Afterwards, Mulder pulled away from Krycek's sweaty body, shaking his head as if waking from a dream. Beside him, Krycek sprawled in the passenger seat, his eyes still closed, a telltale stain growing slowly in the lap of his trousers. His shirt was pulled up, revealing the soft, downy skin of his belly, shining with sweat now in the light of early evening. Then Mulder knew he wanted to kiss him.

Mulder also knew he had lost his mind. The only proof he had that the whole thing had happened was the uncomfortable mess in his shorts and the unmistakable smell of sex that permeated the car. He had to re-establish some sense of normalcy. In a daze, he wiped the foggy windshield with his sleeve and started the car, backing out of the bushes onto the empty, steaming road. Pointing the car toward DC, he rolled the window down and headed for home.

Although Mulder knew the man wasn't asleep, Krycek did not speak, or even look at him, all the way back to the city. Mulder wasn't sure if he was happy about that, or not.

* * * 

Mulder lay back on his sofa and snagged the remote from the coffee table. Even after midnight it was hot as Hades in his apartment and he couldn't sleep, despite having stripped to his boxers. He wanted to believe that the heat was why he was still awake, but he knew better. He was seriously considering requesting a psych exam.

He figured this would be the end of his partnership with Krycek, maybe even the end of his career in the Bureau. Somehow he didn't even care. Maybe he was *trying* to end his career, now that the X-Files had been closed. It made sense.

As he flipped through the channels with the sound muted, hardly noticing the slim Friday night TV pickings, he was startled by a quiet knock. Pulling a pair of loose shorts over his boxers, he picked up his gun and walked silently to the door. He clicked off the safety and asked, "Who's there?"

There was a brief silence, then a low voice dropped one word: "Krycek."

Mulder was surprised at his own response, a strange mixture of dread and excitement. Mostly excitement, he noticed.

Re-engaging the safety on his Glock, he opened the door to find Krycek slouching in the hallway. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt tucked into jeans so old that they were worn almost white in places. Mulder took in his appearance with an eye for the details: the hair damp as if freshly showered, the white threads of the worn jeans, fraying at waist, crotch, and knees. Before the locker room, he'd never seen Krycek out of his J. C. Penney suit, and now Mulder realized that if he had, it would have been impossible not to notice how good the man looked.

Time to face his future. Silent, Mulder stepped back and let Krycek enter the apartment.

Barely glancing at Mulder's half-naked body, Krycek walked into the living room. He turned his back to the flickering screen of the muted TV and looked out the window over the desk. "Christ, it's hot in here. How can you sleep?"

Mulder shook his head. Not the question he'd expected. Trust Krycek to keep him off balance.

"I don't."

Krycek looked up at him sharply in the mirror of the dark window, then shrugged.

Mulder waited until the silence became unbearable. "So, Krycek, why are you here? I didn't expect to see you tonight."

Now Krycek turned to look at Mulder, keeping the coffee table between them. His eyes were as unreadable as ever. "I had an idea about the case."

Mulder started to laugh. It wasn't a happy laugh. "The *case*? Are you serious? After what happened today?"

Krycek didn't smile. "Actually, I thought we should talk. Are you surprised?"

Mulder nodded. "You didn't seem to want to talk this afternoon."

Krycek was incredulous. "What the fuck would you know about *what I want*, Mulder? And what exactly was I supposed to say this afternoon? I've tried everything, tried to do everything right, and nothing's ever going to be good enough for you." He started to pace beside the desk. "So you don't trust me, that much is clear. You treat me like a KGB informer, and you sure don't seem to understand that I'm the best friend you've got right now, the only one on your side. You climb on top of me and hump me in the rain, but you won't even kiss me. What the hell am I *supposed* to say?"

The words felt like a kick in the stomach. Staring at Krycek, Mulder sat down heavily on the sofa. What Krycek had said was true--he'd done everything Mulder had asked of him and more, but Mulder still didn't trust him. *Couldn't* trust him. Why? Mulder had an idea, and it didn't make him look very good. It didn't even make him look much like a grownup.

Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, Mulder tried to make sense of the snippets of conversation and the fleeting images swirling through his mind. Krycek's arrival on that first day. How nervous he'd seemed, how eager to please. His anger at being ignored, ditched. His obvious jealousy of Scully. Krycek's concern for him during the Augustus Cole case, his careful statement of support for Mulder's theories on induced sleeplessness. "I want to believe," he'd said. Krycek puking in the men's room after shooting Cole, and his sneer when Mulder tried to talk to him about it. Krycek insisting that he be allowed to drive, arguing with him about a case, sticking up for his own point of view. Had he really done anything to warrant Mulder's distrust? Mulder knew he'd never given him a chance to prove himself. 

After a few minutes of Mulder's silence, Krycek swore under his breath and headed toward the door. If he let Krycek go now, it would all be over. They always seemed to be at cross purposes, and Mulder was getting tired of fighting. He sat up, rubbing his hands over his face to clear his thoughts. "Wait, Krycek. Have a seat." Mulder gestured at the other end of the couch. Krycek looked back in surprise.

"Come on, sit down for a minute." He saw the indecision on his partner's face, in the way he hovered hesitantly near the door. Finally, Krycek crossed the room again and lowered himself slowly to the far end of Mulder's sofa. He looked across at Mulder with his brows drawn together, as if trying to discover what trick the fox was up to this time. Then he leaned back and waited for Mulder to speak.

Mulder was surprised that he didn't feel more self-conscious, dressed only in shorts, sitting with Krycek in the dark. He looked at his hands with a slight frown. "You're right, I don't trust you. I hardly trust anyone." He glanced up sharply. "I thought I could trust Skinner, and look where *that* got me." He felt his lips curl in disgust.

Krycek shifted on the sofa. Finally he asked, "What about Scully?"

"Scully . . . well, I knew she was sent to watch me, and I always knew she was doing her job." His voice softened. "But I also knew that she was the fairest person I'd ever met, and she'd never lie to them about me, or lie to them *for* me. And she was never afraid to criticize me." Mulder stopped, remembering.

Krycek gave a bitter little laugh. "So I guess I should criticize you more, huh?" He shook his head.

"It's not just that, Krycek . . ." Mulder gave a wry, self-mocking smile. "I'm particularly bad about trusting when I'm attracted to someone." The image of a dark-haired woman rose unbidden in his mind. He drew a deep breath. "I may have overcompensated for that a little."

Mulder had spoken quietly, but when he glanced across the sofa he knew Krycek had heard. His eyes were bright and his face was flushed in the light from the TV. "You couldn't have known all that. I was being an asshole."

Krycek picked at a loose thread in the knee of his jeans and didn't look at Mulder.

"Anyway, if you want an apology you can have one. I'm sorry about today. Even if I think you wanted it as much as I did." //Where did *that* come from?// Mulder forged ahead. "And I know you'll want to get a new partner and file a grievance. I'm not going to try to stop you--I think it may be time for me to leave the Bureau, anyway." It was true that he'd thought about resigning, but Mulder also knew he was saying it mostly to see how Krycek would respond.

"No, that's not why I came here," Alex responded quickly. "I'm not planning to file a complaint. I just wanted some answers, and I guess I got them." He flushed as he spoke, but he seemed sincere. "As soon as this case is finished I'll ask to be reassigned, and you can go back to working on your own."

They sat in silence for a few moments, until Mulder cleared his throat and spoke quietly. "Can I ask you something?" Krycek nodded, looking down at his lap. "Did you really want me to kiss you?"

The words seemed to fill the room as Krycek slowly raised his eyes to meet Mulder's. For once, Mulder could read his look. In those eyes he saw need and desire. Things he'd never noticed there before.

***************

Mulder licked his lips nervously as Krycek slid slowly down the sofa toward him. Earlier, in the car, he'd almost felt as if he were standing outside his body, watching his own actions from a distance. He'd known what he was doing but he hadn't felt he was in control. Now he was completely grounded in his body, and he knew he could stop Krycek's prowling approach with the slightest shift of his eyes or the merest motion of his hand. But he also knew he didn't want to.

His stomach fluttered as Krycek drew closer. Finally he stopped next to Mulder on the couch, one leg drawn up so that he could face him. So close now that Mulder could feel the heat radiating from him, could smell his shampoo. It smelled like apples. Somehow, that fit.

Krycek was so close that Mulder could feel his breath on his cheek when he whispered, "Yes, Mulder, you are *such* an asshole." His breath was sweet, dusky, as if he'd been eating fruit. "You have *no idea* how irritating you are." Mulder watched his eyes, how they glittered in the dark. When Krycek spoke again, his voice was even softer. "And yes, Mulder, I want you to kiss me."

Then he was there for the taking, and Mulder drew a deep breath. Leaning forward, he touched his lips to Krycek's.

Krycek's mouth was soft, and it opened beneath Mulder's as if he were telling a sweet secret that only he knew. Mulder tested Krycek's mouth with his tongue, then reached up and pulled him closer so he could explore properly. Krycek's tongue against his own was hot velvet, dark and full in Mulder's mouth, filling him and taking from him with every swirling touch. As Mulder fell farther into the kiss, Krycek took the lead, devouring Mulder's lips and tongue with his whole mouth, claiming the territory with tender insistence. Mulder felt as if he were being branded.

As they kissed, Krycek slipped his hands to Mulder's bare chest and teased his nipples with light fingertips. The feathery touches drew a moan from Mulder, who fell back against the cushions and pulled Krycek with him so they were chest to chest, warm bodies separated only by the soft cotton of Krycek's t-shirt. Without breaking their kiss, Mulder pulled the t-shirt up clumsily, shivering when hot skin touched his own naked chest. Pulling away, Krycek yanked the shirt off, then shifted over on the sofa until Mulder could lie down full length. Finally, Krycek covered Mulder's body with his own, kissing him in earnest.

Mulder moaned. Krycek's mouth was all over him, sucking and kissing his face, neck, and chest. His hands were on Mulder's chest and belly, pinching, squeezing, and stroking by turns. Mulder gasped as he felt a thumbnail scrape roughly across his nipple, then trail down to his navel and stroke it gently. Krycek's hips and legs were heavy on Mulder's, the buttons of his jeans pressing hard against Mulder's aching cock through the fabric of his shorts and boxers. Trapped beneath the energy that was Krycek, Mulder felt his head begin to spin.

Krycek shifted lower, close against Mulder's body, stroking his hips and groin through the soft shorts. Mulder started to twist and buck against the searching fingers, pushing his hips up to meet Krycek's touch. "God, Krycek, please .. ." The cry was torn from him without his own awareness, and he was surprised to hear the desperation in his voice. He needed those hands on his body, touching him, now.

Krycek looked up, smiling wickedly at his plea. "I told you, Mulder, I want to give you what you need." His fingers worked their way into the waist of his shorts and pulled the loose garment down. Leaning over Mulder's straining hips, he breathed hot air against Mulder's erection, then rubbed his cheek along the cotton that covered it. When he reached Mulder's balls, his mouth opened wide and he hummed softly against them until Mulder squirmed.

As Krycek mouthed his way back up the shaft, Mulder thrust gently against the wet heat of his tongue. Reaching the waistband of the boxers, Krycek tongued at the wet spot in the soft fabric. Mulder cried aloud at Krycek's wet tongue, hot and probing, making the cotton rough on the sensitive head of his penis.

Finally Krycek took pity on Mulder and lowered the waistband of his boxers below the heavy fall of his testicles. Mulder sighed in relief as his straining erection was released from the binding cotton. Krycek slipped off the sofa and knelt beside him now, pulling Mulder's shorts and underwear off his long legs. Mulder watched as Krycek touched him, part of his brain noticing how gentle he could be, part of it still amazed that this was even happening. Reaching down, Mulder placed his hand on Krycek's jeans and felt the hard bulge throbbing under the worn denim. Turning slightly on the sofa, he unbuttoned the fly, releasing the head of Krycek's cock from captivity.

As Mulder popped the buttons open one by one his straining cock pushed its way out of his jeans. "No underwear, Krycek?" Mulder arched an eyebrow.

Krycek grinned. "It's too hot for layers." He pushed his jeans the rest of the way off and kicked off his shoes. Naked now, he knelt again by the sofa. His hands played across Mulder's body, as if learning him by touch.

"I wanted this, you know." Krycek's voice was low. "Ever since we first met."

Mulder didn't answer. He had wanted this, too. But it was one thing to be naked together, another thing to reveal himself to Krycek by telling him that. He stroked his hand down Krycek's back and rested it for a moment on the sweet curve of his ass. It had been far too long since he'd been with anyone.

Krycek seemed to pull himself back to the present. "Got any condoms, Mulder?" He punctuated the question with a wet lick along the length of Mulder's cock.

"Bedroom . . . " Mulder gasped. "Dresser drawer . . . " 

Grinning, Krycek hopped up and headed toward the door. "Be right back."

For a minute or two, Mulder could hear him rummaging in the other room, opening the drawers of the dresser and digging around for the condoms. Even through the deep haze of his arousal, Mulder knew it was stupid to let Krycek go through his things. He sat up on the sofa, unsure whether he wanted to go in and stop Krycek, put his clothes back on, or what . . . hell, he didn't *want* to do any of those things, he only thought he *should*.

Then Krycek was back, condoms in hand. Seeing Mulder sitting up on the sofa, he dropped the condoms and lube on the coffee table and settled on his knees over Mulder's lap, planting a hand on his chest to push him back down onto his back. "No you don't, Mulder. You're not getting away that easily." Krycek smiled, but the menace of his words was clear.

Kneeling over Mulder's lap, straddling his body, Krycek leaned forward until his face was level with Mulder's. "No second thoughts, now. I can see you want this." Then he ground his hips into Mulder's, bringing their cocks into direct contact and drawing a broken cry from Mulder. Krycek held himself there, rubbing his erection against Mulder's, a dreamy look on his face as he continued to whisper. "We both need it . . . and you know you're going to feel so good when I'm inside you, pumping you until you scream."

Mulder moaned and lifted his hips, stabbing his cock toward Krycek's. He shivered as he felt the heat of Krycek's tight skin, the throbbing cock against his own. Oh, *fuck*.

"We will, Mulder, don't worry."

Krycek sat back up a little and began moving his hands over Mulder's body, his erection still heavy against Mulder's lap. His nimble fingers stroked their way up Mulder's belly and ribs, feather-light. Mulder groaned as Krycek circled his nipples and pinched at them lightly. 

"You like that?" Krycek pinched again, harder.

"Yessssss . . ."

Grinning, Krycek gave the hard nubs a final tweak and ran his hands out to Mulder's shoulders. Digging into the tightened muscles, he stroked his way firmly down Mulder's arms. Mulder writhed under Krycek's searching fingers.

Suddenly, Mulder's hands were over his head, held there by Krycek's strong grip, and Krycek was back in his face. Chest to chest with Krycek, Mulder struggled a little, mostly to test Krycek's hold. It was firm, but not tight. Mulder thought he could get away if he wanted to. "Krycek. . . " Mulder licked his lips. "Krycek, what are you doing?" The heat where their bodies touched made it difficult to think, and the danger of the situation seemed to heighten his arousal.

Krycek showed his teeth. "Relax, Mulder." He ground himself against Mulder's body, still holding his hands over his head. "You'll like it."

Leaning closer, Krycek licked hungrily at Mulder's lips, then pushed his tongue deep into Mulder's mouth. Mulder gasped as his mouth was claimed roughly, arching up into the heat of Krycek's body, flexing against the firm hold over his head. Krycek let him move but didn't set him free. Holding Mulder down with his entire body, he kissed him thoroughly, teasing him expertly with lips and tongue and teeth until Mulder was laboring for breath beneath him. Finally, Krycek pulled away, sucking hard on Mulder's lower lip until he had to let it go as he sat up again. Dazed and aching for more, Mulder sighed as Krycek pulled back and looked down at him.

Mulder blinked up at Krycek. "What . . . ?" 

"That's some mouth you've got, Mulder." Krycek slipped one hand around both Mulder's wrists and brought the other down to stroke a thumb across Mulder's lips. "You know what it makes me think of? Angels. Mangoes. Rain. Hot, dirty things I'd like to do to you, like for you to do to me . .. " As his whisper trailed off, Krycek raised his thumb to his own lips and licked it, then brought it back to Mulder's mouth. Mulder flushed as Krycek ran it over his lips again. "You want me to do those things, Mulder?"

Mulder squirmed under Krycek and closed his eyes. He could hardly remember his own name, much less how to speak. His brain had seeped out of his ears the moment Krycek had climbed on top of him. Summoning all his strength, he nodded, slightly, against the sofa cushions.

"Good, Mulder. Because I don't think I can resist that mouth much longer."

Lying there with his eyes closed, Mulder felt Krycek moving forward on his knees, still straddling Mulder's body and holding his hands above his head. He stopped when he reached Mulder's upper chest. //Oh no oh no no yes no yes yes yes . . . //

"Open your eyes," Krycek whispered hoarsely. 

Mulder took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Krycek knelt over his chest, his knees wedged under Mulder's extended shoulders, his balls hanging not six inches from Mulder's chin. Mulder took the sight in, the rosy balls with their dusting of dark blond hairs--funny, he'd expected brown, even black hair here. Then the thick, throbbing erection, curving smoothly up Krycek's belly, filled so tight with blood that the foreskin was stretched back behind the dark velvety head. Mulder's mouth went dry at the proof of Krycek's desire for him jutting from the light curls of his groin.

He lifted his eyes further and took in the smooth skin of his belly //Oh, god, I *remember*!// and his chest, again covered with sparse light curls, baby fine. Reaching Krycek's face, Mulder swallowed nervously. In the dim light he could see green eyes searching his own face, watching his mouth. Mulder licked his lips, self-conscious under the close scrutiny.

Krycek groaned and took his own cock in his free hand. "See this, Mulder?" He pulled it close to Mulder's face, pressing down on Mulder's wrists with his other hand. "This is what you do to me." Mulder felt his own erection throb as Krycek gently stroked the velvet tip against his cheek, moving it slowly toward his mouth. He gasped as the hot, smooth head slid across his lips, nudging tentatively at his mouth.

"Mulder, do you know that your mouth was made to suck a cock?" Krycek rubbed his erection over Mulder's lips as he spoke. "This curve here--" he placed the head of his cock against the center of Mulder's lower lip--"I've dreamed about this spot."

Mulder's heart beat faster at Krycek's words. Anticipation, fear, and excitement struggled for control of his mind; his body belonged to Krycek. Did he trust him? Did it matter? It would be so easy to shut off his brain for just a little while and do what felt good. *This* felt good. He might regret it tomorrow, and he might pay for it for the rest of his life, but this was going to happen tonight.

Krycek pressed forward slightly, and Mulder readily parted his lips to take Krycek's cock into his mouth. It was heavy and hot against his tongue, the swollen head seeking the slick wetness within. Mulder covered his teeth with his lips and gave a hard suck, swirling his tongue about the thick tip. Krycek threw his head back and groaned loudly. "Ugh . . . that's it . . . take it, baby."

Mulder's head was spinning, and once again it was as if he were watching himself from above. He saw his own eyes fall closed and his mouth open wider to allow to Krycek to push farther in. He saw himself abandoned to a force greater than his own consciousness.

As Mulder took in more of his cock, Krycek released his hold on Mulder's wrists and brought his hands down to cradle Mulder's head. Burying his fingers in the short hair, he angled Mulder's head so that his cock slid deeply into the back of Mulder's mouth. Mulder groaned, aware that Krycek would feel the vibrations against his cock, and placed his hands on Krycek's hips. Wrapping his fingers about the smooth, firm flesh, Mulder set a rhythm of push and pull, opening his throat as far as he could to Krycek's thrusts. Krycek jabbed forward against Mulder's tongue, filling his mouth again and again with hot, hard flesh.

They rocked together for a few minutes, Krycek pumping steadily into Mulder's mouth, until Krycek's thrusts became spasmodic and his breathing grew more labored. "Not yet, Mulder." He pulled back until only the head of his cock remained in Mulder's mouth. "Want to make it last." As he slowly settled back so that the head slipped out between Mulder's lips, Mulder gave him a final lick across the glans. Krycek paused a moment, holding Mulder's head as if he'd plow back into his mouth and finish then and there, then shivered and let him go.

Letting his head fall back against the cushions, Mulder smiled up at the dazed look on Krycek's face. "You speechless, Krycek? That's a first." Mulder himself couldn't believe the easy tone he was able to take with him now. Having a man's cock in your mouth could do that, though.

Krycek shook his head and shifted back down Mulder's body a bit, stopping over his waist. When he spoke, his voice was still breathless. "You don't do anything by halves, do you?" He grinned. "I'm definitely impressed, Mulder."

He leaned over to grab the condoms from the table beside the sofa. Mulder watched the easy movement, noting how Krycek's sweaty body caught the light of the silent television. He was amazed at how graceful the man was, naked. He'd never have guessed.

When he looked up, Krycek was holding the strip of Trojans, an incredulous look on his face. "Mulder, these condoms expired eight months ago." He started to laugh, his body shaking over Mulder's.

Mulder blushed. He didn't really need Krycek to know how long it'd been since he last got lucky. "Shut up, Krycek."

Krycek laughed harder and showed Mulder the date stamped on the condoms--November, 1993.

"Don't *you* have any?"

Krycek solemnly shook his head. "Of course not. What kind of guy do you think I am? You think I came over here to get laid?"

"Yes, I *do*." Mulder lifted his flagging erection to Krycek's ass, feeling himself twitch back to life in the sweaty cleft.

Krycek ground himself against Mulder, hard. "Well, for once you're wrong, Agent Mulder. But I'm willing to take a chance if you are."

With that, he tore open a condom and pulled it out. Mulder was about to stop him, try to call it off, when Krycek reached down behind his back and began rolling the condom onto Mulder's cock. Nimble fingers stroked him back to full rigidity as Krycek deftly fit the latex snugly over his shaft.

"What? . . . Oh, god . . ." Mulder found it difficult to speak. "Krycek . . . I thought you wanted to be on top."

Popping the lubricant open, Krycek grinned. "Mulder, in case you hadn't noticed, I *am* on top." He reached back with one hand and slicked Mulder quickly, then rubbed his fingers behind his own balls. Lifting Mulder's cock, he scooted backwards until the head was poised at the entrance to his body.

Mulder moaned as the blunt head of his cock nudged up against the hot, slippery spot. Krycek wiggled his rear a little and bounced back against the intruder. "C'mon, Mulder . . . c'mon," he chanted. Mulder held himself there in anticipation for as long as he could, then his hips lifted of their own volition and he drove the tip of his cock up into the tight opening.

Krycek closed his eyes and grimaced, baring his teeth. Then he bore down, pushing back against Mulder's cock until the ring of his anus gave a little and the head slipped completely inside him. Krycek smiled.

Mulder sighed at the delicious pressure against his cock. Reaching for Krycek's hips, he pushed up slowly into that heat. In response, Krycek leaned forward a little and steadied himself by grabbing Mulder's shoulders. "Mulder .. . oh, Mulder . . . fuck me, Fox."

Mulder barely heard what Krycek had said. He was so lost in the tight heat of Krycek's ass that all he could do was push harder, pressing up until there was nowhere else for him to go. With the entire length of his cock buried in Krycek's body, he looked up at Krycek's sweaty face. He saw the face of an angel caught between ecstasy and agony, hanging between heaven and hell. Krycek looked so completely different here, like this, that Mulder wondered if he really was the same person.

Then Krycek began to move, and thought became impossible. He rocked forward, then back, fucking himself on Mulder's cock. Mulder caught his rhythm and continued it, stabbing upward when Krycek pushed back, pulling his hips down into the sofa as Krycek rocked forward. Each time Krycek pushed down, he twisted his hips slightly and shuddered, and Mulder knew he was angling himself so that the head of Mulder's cock brushed against his prostate.

As they grew more frenzied, Mulder slid his hands from Krycek's hips around to his cock. Erect and throbbing even during penetration, it stood out proudly from his body, dripping a long strand of clear fluid to Mulder's belly. Mulder cupped Krycek's balls in one hand and wrapped the fingers of the other around the tight shaft. Krycek cried out as Mulder squeezed his balls and ran a thumb over the head, smearing slick precum around the glans and behind the ridge of the foreskin. He had a beautiful cock, the veins standing out pale blue in the foreskin, the head emerging from the sheath rosy and dark and full. Still driving into Krycek from below, Mulder squeezed his cock tightly, loving the way the firm, smooth skin rubbed hotly in his palm as Krycek thrust.

After only a few more strokes, Krycek was straining, muscles standing out in his thighs as he clamped his fingers on Mulder's shoulders. Then he was dancing above Mulder in the jerky motions of orgasm. His mouth fell open and his head rolled against his shoulders as Mulder watched, fascinated. Suddenly, he pressed down hard on Mulder's lap and began to wail. His nails dug into Mulder's skin as the thick semen poured out of his cock in uneven spurts that landed on Mulder's chest and stomach. As Krycek came, Mulder felt the contraction of muscles on his cock, the convulsing heat making his balls tighten and his cock fill. Then he let go, and he was bucking below Krycek, shooting up into him with the full force of orgasm. Krycek hung on to his shoulders, riding the wave of Mulder's climax and pushing himself as far onto Mulder as he could.

Finally the moment passed, and Krycek fell forward onto Mulder's body, boneless, sweaty, heaving. His semen slid between their wet torsos, creating a sticky seal. Shifting carefully, Mulder reached beneath Krycek's thigh to hold the condom to the base of his softening cock as he withdrew. Krycek sighed as Mulder pulled free, his face pressed to Mulder's shoulder.

Mulder felt the condom carefully as he stripped it off. "You were lucky. It didn't break." Stretching out, he dropped it into the wastebasket beside his desk.

Krycek turned his face toward Mulder's, still resting his cheek against Mulder's shoulder. "They usually overcompensate on those expiration dates, you know." His voice was sated and sleepy, his eyes drowsy.

Mulder touched Krycek's hair gently, ran a hand over his back. "Still, that was an insane thing to do, Alex." He couldn't seem to make his voice sound disapproving.

"Come on, Mulder. I know you're clean." Krycek yawned. "Besides, if anything had happened, you'd have felt guilty enough for both of us. We'll get some new ones next time."

"How . . ." //*Next* time?// "How do you know I'm clean?" Mulder turned his head to see Krycek more clearly.

Krycek lifted unguarded eyes to his face. "I trust you, Mulder." Then he nuzzled his face against Mulder's sweaty neck.

Mulder swallowed words that caught in his throat. He had a sudden feeling that this was the beginning of something, and he realized once again that he'd be paying for this night for a long time, one way or another. But it was too late to be careful now. He cupped Krycek's dark head and stroked his flank. He couldn't believe how well they fit. Mulder tested his feelings, as if testing a loose tooth with his tongue. He felt good. And it was the first time he'd felt good in a long time.

Finally Mulder spoke. "Krycek, why do I get the feeling that you're *always* on top?"

Krycek's laugh was muffled by Mulder's shoulder. "Don't you have a bed in this place?"

Ten minutes later, Krycek was clean and dry and sleeping naked under a sheet on Mulder's bed. Mulder stood in the doorway, dazed, watching the even rise and fall of his chest in the moonlight. Mulder felt like he'd been over Niagara Falls in a barrel. How was it that Alex was able to take this whole situation in stride? There was a lot more to him than Mulder had realized. Moving silently to the bed, Mulder slipped under the sheet and pulled his pillow out of his partner's sleepy grasp. He was starting to look forward to uncovering the truth about this man.

~ fin ~


End file.
